Sunday, 25 January 2015

Bamberg Beer Blog pt.1

I’ve wanted to visit Bamberg long before a Schlenkerla
rauchbier had ever touched my lips. How could you go wrong with a trip to a
picturesque German town crawling with breweries? And, as I began to pick out
bacon-like smoke as an enjoyable element of certain dark beers, when I
eventually did try a bottle of Schlenkerla’s marzen, I found myself firmly on
the fanboy side of this divisive beer. My girlfriend, Sidony, never seemed too
enamoured with the idea, though, and I got used to hearing answers along the
lines of “we are not going to bloody Bamberg!” whenever I brought it up.
Imagine my surprise, then, when she gave me a handmade guide book this
Christmas, containing all the details of a trip to Bamberg she’d booked without
me knowing, to take place in just a few weeks’ time. I was blown away, and
without doubt this is the greatest gift I have ever received.

The space between Christmas and our beery holiday was full
of agonising anticipation, but soon enough we were on our way. A problem
emerges shortly after our arrival at Nuremberg airport; an inspector on the
very plush train we’re on doesn’t like the look of our ticket. We’ve
unknowingly boarded a luxurious direct train instead of the stopping service
our ticket entitles us to. Nervous at the prospect of a hefty fine before we’ve
even arrived at our destination, we plead innocence. “Where is your home?” he
asks. When we tell him we’re English, he gives us a look of recognition. “I was
waiting for the next one”, he says and, bowing somewhat sarcastically, bids us “good
evening.” This incident establishes something of a theme of the whole trip;
blundering tourists (us/me) draw attention to themselves by not understanding
how anything works. We spent so much of our time here trying to figure out how or
where to order a beer, opening the door to a tavern’s kitchen when trying to
find the bar, or just simply baffling the locals by our mere presence. But this
is all part of the fun, makes it more of an adventure, confirming that removing
yourself from your comfort zone can be an exhilarating experience, even if you’re
essentially just going to the pub.

There’s a welcoming bottle of Schlenkerla waiting for us in
the apartment we’re staying in, and the lady who owns it gives us directions to
the tavern, just a few minutes’ walk. A rowdy but friendly crowd drinking on
the street outside tells us we’re in the right place and, stepping inside, we
find a beautifully shady, high-beamed building teeming with people, everyone
holding a glass of the same near-black brew. There are no free seats, so we
head for what I understand to be the ‘schwemm’, a kind of covered courtyard
where beer is served through a small hatch and often drunk standing up. With
quite some anticipation, I join the small queue leading towards the hatch. Only
the famous marzen beer is available here, tapped directly from traditional
wooden barrels via gravity. This suits me, a confirmed rauchbier fan, down to
the ground, but Sidony is sceptical about smoked beer – I’d previously
reassured her that she could have the helles, which picks up a little smoky
flavour but isn’t brewed with smoked malt. She’ll have to go for the full on
rauchbier experience instead.

I order two glasses and, as
expected, it’s a revelation, with a depth of flavour that no bottle at home
could ever hope to achieve. Whilst I’ve never thought of rauchbier as an endlessly
drinkable beer, I polish my glass off in no time, perhaps encouraged by the
speed at which the beer is poured and the transaction completed. I love the
initial hit of notorious bacon flavour, but continue drinking and the intensity
of the blended Frazzles notes fade, and what remains is a remarkable dark
lager. This is, without doubt, the greatest beer experience of my life so far,
and proof that travelling for beer is worth
it – it’ll never taste better than it does here, and the buzz in the tavern as
the queue in the schwemm grows, practically pinning us to the wall, is
intoxicating. If I had to go home in the morning having only visited
Schenkerla, I’d still say it was worth it. And a rauchbier naysayer is
converted – Sidony loves it, too.

Continuing the clueless tourist
theme of the trip, I make a horrendous blunder when it’s time to order my
second beer. A sign on the wall advertises two items; one is a glass of marzen,
at €2.60, and the other is something called ‘glasspfand’ at €2. Not speaking
German, I don’t know what this word means but, being a dickhead, I decide it’s
a seasonal beer and try to order it. It is, in fact, the deposit that you pay
on your glass. I’m saved from total embarrassment by the barman simply plonking
two glasses of marzen down without listening to what I was saying anyway, but I
feel like a total prick and vow not to be so cocky in future.